This is the third time I started writing this entry, crossing my fingers that it’s the last. Not sure why I can’t do this one, but I had a dream last night and think I finally got it.
A letter to someone, anyone.
Dear State Street House,
I realize that you are not a living person or something that can perceive letters, but you are still very visual in my dreams and memories. You were the first memory of a home that I can remember, and were my home for about twenty years of my life. This last dream I had of you was… different than any other dream I’ve had before of you. It felt extremely real, that I swore I was there. The staircase always had this familiar creaking, almost rhythmic, and it made everything else seem real. My mind was remembering what it looked like back when I was still a child. Granted, it was a dream, so it didn’t look exactly like it. But I lived there 20 years, so it looked many different ways.
I was so in love with you, that I am still planning on owning you in the future. Hoping that you don’t get demolished because you’re getting up there in years… If houses could read, I would hope you read mine and understand how much of an impact you’ve had on my life and my subconscious. All the memories I’ve had there, great and really bad. Through heartbreak, depression, and discovering who I am; you know, teenage stuff. You were my sanctuary and it was hard to leave you. When my parents sold the house, it was tough for me. Hard to picture some other family using you for their own memories.
Hope you’re doing well and don’t get destroyed any time soon. Thanks for the memories.